The Trials of Commitment
by Reading-Penguin
Summary: Sherlock and John's relationship has been growing steady over the past few months. However, are they ready to take their relationship to the next step? Will Sherlock be ready to put something else slightly before his work? (Sequel to: Gray Area).
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So! This is the sequel to the story, Gray Area. In order to read that story, visit my profile page. Anyways, I apologize for the wait! I started this story as soon as I was finished with Gray Area, but I didn't want to post it until I was sure that it was ready. Luckily for you, it is now ready! Feel free to leave comments with praises or criticisms! Also, thank you for your support. It means a lot to me. Happy reading! **

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A year ago, if someone would have told Sherlock that he would end up with a best friend, he would not have believed them. After all, he was Sherlock Holmes. He was the high-functioning sociopath. He was the "freak" that no one wanted to deal with. Every time he was called "freak", he worried about John leaving him.

John. The army doctor who decided to live in 221B Baker Street with him. When Sherlock first met John, he doubted that he would want to live with him. But John decided to live with him. To this day, Sherlock wasn't quite sure as to why John agreed to live with him, but he was not complaining. If it wasn't for John, he would have probably been alone for the rest of his life.

Being alone didn't really scare Sherlock until he met John. John Watson somehow inched his way into Sherlock's cold heart, and showed him that people could be caring; that people could be there for others. Of course, he didn't really trust anyone except for John, but trusting one person was better than trusting none. That's what he thought, at least.

Sherlock stood in front of the toaster, waiting for the bread to pop out of it. He normally didn't make breakfast, but this was a special day. The bread popped out of the toaster; Sherlock quickly spread some strawberry jam on the pieces and placed them on the table next to John's omelette. Sherlock adjusted the silverware so it was perfectly in line with the plates. He smiled at the arrangement and then ran down the stairs.

As if on cue, the door opened. John rubbed his hands together and stepped into the flat. His cheeks were bright red. Sherlock smirked and pulled John close to him. John stumbled into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John until he started to squirm. John chuckled.

"What is all the hugging for, Sherlock? I only went for a walk."

"I'm glad that you're back, John. Is there something wrong with that?" Sherlock frowned.

Even though Sherlock knew that John would never leave him, he still believed that John would leave sometime. Sherlock knew that John cared about him a lot, but Sherlock thought that all of his quirks would make John leave some day. Something on Sherlock's face must've given his thoughts away because John wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"Sherlock, don't worry about me leaving. I told you a long time ago that I wouldn't leave you. And, I love how you greeted me. I wish you greeted me like this more often," John said, breaking the hug and going up the stairs.

"I'm still new to this, John," Sherlock said, bounding up the stairs behind John. "You know that I worry about things that I shouldn't."

"I know, Sherlock. And I'm glad that you worry about us, but you really do not need to."

Sherlock smiled and followed John into the kitchen. John stopped in his tracks when he saw that the table was already set with coffee and other breakfast food.

"Sherlock! You didn't have to do this," John said, shaking his head.

"I know," Sherlock said softly, "but I wanted to. Today's special, after all."

Today really was special. And it wasn't special because they had solved a case. Today marked their one year anniversary. It was hard for Sherlock to believe that a whole year had passed since they originally got together. To him, they had only started to date a few days ago. Surprisingly, the past year had gone very smoothly. Of course, John and Sherlock fought, but they always made up afterwards. It was impossible for them to stay mad at each other for longer than a day.

"I really appreciate this, Sherlock," John said, taking a seat at the table.

He took a bite of the toast. Sherlock watched him chew with wide eyes. He bit his lip. John smirked.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, I like the toast. You did a good job. You didn't burn it," John said, putting the toast down.

John had taught Sherlock how to make simple breakfast foods about a month or so ago. At first, he thought that Sherlock would be a very good cook. Of course though, Sherlock managed to surprise him. Apparently consulting detectives were not good chefs straight out of the gate. John hadn't even tried to teach Sherlock how to make anything complicated at first, either. He had just tried to show Sherlock how to make toast. Sherlock, surprisingly, burnt the toast completely. When it popped out of the toaster, it was rock solid. Sherlock tried to get John to take a bite of it, but John refused. He told Sherlock that toast was not supposed to be the color of night. Sherlock was upset about his lack of culinary skills at first, but after lots of practice, he eventually made toast that was only a little burnt.

The toast Sherlock had made today though was perfect. It was perfectly tan and had the correct amount of jam. John polished the toast off in a few bites.

"How did you like the toast, John?" Sherlock asked after John was finished.

"It was fantastic, Sherlock," John said, digging into the omelet.

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. So, is there any time that I should be ready to go out to dinner at?"

John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. No, Sherlock was not supposed to know about dinner. He had planned this dinner months in advance. If Sherlock deduced where the dinner would be, the dinner wouldn't be as nearly as exciting. John wanted tonight to be different; John wanted Sherlock to be completely surprised when he looked at the restaurant.

"Just be ready by seven."

"Should I be dressed in a certain way?" Sherlock asked.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. Did Sherlock really think that he could get away with this? Even though John wasn't as smart as Sherlock, he was not stupid.

"Wear what you think is appropriate for an one year anniversary, Sherlock."

Sherlock let out a loud exaggerated sigh and left the kitchen, leaving John to clean up the mess. Luckily Sherlock had cleaned up most of the mess, but there were still many dishes in the sink that had to be cleaned. John ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his plates, and went over to the sink where the other dishes were waiting.

Why wouldn't John tell him where they were going for dinner? Sherlock stomped into their bedroom and went over to his closet. He figured that John would want to surprise him with a restaurant, but he thought that he would at least tell him the dress code of the place. Sighing, he picked out a black suit and paired it with a purple shirt that John had bought him for his birthday a few months ago. Sherlock had had another purple shirt before, but he accidentally teared it while he was trying to climb a fence for a case. The tear was very large, and John had been able to see Sherlock's chest as they walked home that evening. John had tried not to stare while they walked back to 221B, but Sherlock caught him staring more than once.

Since that shirt had to be thrown away, John replaced it with a shirt that was almost identical to the one that he had ripped. Sherlock quickly buttoned up his shirt and rolled his sleeves to his elbows so people- so John could see his muscles. He smirked to himself as he walked out of their bedroom. John would tell him where they were going tonight.

John was just about to sit down with a cup of tea when Sherlock waltzed out of their bedroom with one of his favorite shirts. He tried to look away, but his eyes didn't want to. Sherlock smirked and sat down in his chair. He picked up the newspaper next to him and flipped opened to a random story.

"You know that it's not polite to stare, right?" Sherlock said, looking at John.

John cleared his throat and continued to make himself tea, hoping that Sherlock didn't realize how flustered that shirt was making him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this story! Below you will find Chapter 2. Please feel free to leave a comment (I will read your comment if you leave one, so it will not go unnoticed!) or follow the story! If it wasn't for you, the fans, I would not have continued this story. So, thank you so much for your support. It means a lot to me. I hope you all enjoy the story!  
**

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Later on that day, John found himself gazing at Sherlock once again. He was now in the living room, trying to summarize a case that Sherlock and him completed about a week ago instead of typing about Sherlock's very defined cheekbones. Sherlock sat in his chair with his arms resting on the sides. His shirt tightened around his chest. John swallowed and glanced down at his laptop screen, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't notice how red his cheeks were. Luckily, Sherlock was watching some reality tv show, so he doubted that Sherlock would notice. His deduction powers seemed to weaken when he was watching television. Or maybe Sherlock just decided to deduce qualities about the characters instead. Every once in a while, he would hear Sherlock yelling at the television, completely astonished with one of the character's actions.

John adjusted himself in his seat until he felt more comfortable.

"You know, fidgeting in your seat isn't really going to solve anything, John." Sherlock gave John a sidelong glance. "I thought a grown man would know that."

John's lips parted. How did Sherlock know what he was trying to do? he thought to himself.

"But I-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"But nothing, John. I am not dumb. I may be watching television, but I can still pay attention to other things while I watch it. It's not that difficult."

Sherlock got up from his chair and strode right over to John. John's mouth went completely dry by the time Sherlock was standing in front of him, his eyes set right on John's. John tried to look elsewhere, but it wasn't any use. The only thing that he could look at were Sherlock's blue-silver eyes. Sherlock smiled and leaned in. Before John really knew what he was doing, he leaned into Sherlock and met his lips with his own. His hands ran up Sherlock's biceps, over his shoulders, until he found his neck. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, trying to make Sherlock get closer to him. Sherlock chuckled under his breath and broke the kiss right when John wanted to take the kiss further. John groaned.

"What was that for, Sherlock?" John asked, his lips still tingling from the kiss.

"Well, you didn't want to tell me where we're going for dinner, so I'm not going to let you make-out with me."

John's lips parted; he stared at Sherlock, stunned.

"Come on, Sherlock, don't be like that. I'm not telling you where we are going to dinner because it is supposed to be a surprise."

"You know that I don't like surprises. Once we leave the flat, I'll be able to figure out where we are going, John." He leaned in until his lips were only a few centimeters away from John's. John swallowed. "There isn't any way that you can keep this away from me. So, the most logical thing for you to do would be to tell me where we are going. After all, if you tell me, I'll let us fool around before we go out to dinner."

John let out a ragged breath. Why, why did Sherlock have to be so stubborn all the time? Why couldn't he do this one nice thing for him- for them? They hadn't really gone out to any fancy restaurants since they got together. They didn't even really have time to go to a fancy restaurant during the past year, either. Once they had finished one case, another one would pop up. Since they were always working cases, they didn't really have any time to go to a nice restaurant. John wanted this weekend to be different; he wanted to take Sherlock somewhere nice without him trying to find out where they were going.

"Well?" Sherlock let his fingers' trail along John's knee.

John ran a hand through his hair. He breathed out of his nose and closed his eyes for a second, hoping to recollect himself. He could not let Sherlock affect him so much. Any other day, he would not have minded Sherlock acting this way. But today was their anniversary. Most people would want their partner to be physical on their anniversary, but he knew Sherlock worked. He wasn't acting this way just because he wanted to try to seduce John. Sherlock wanted to make John crack; to tell him where they were going to dinner.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you'll just have to wait."

Sherlock frowned.

"Come on-"

"Sherlock, please. I promise that you will like this place, okay? I would not have chosen a restaurant that you would not like. Just be patient."

Sherlock trailed his fingers back down John's knee as he backed away.

"Fine."

John's thigh longed for Sherlock's touch once Sherlock stepped away from John. He bit his lip and picked up the newspaper next to the chair. Breathe, John, breathe, he commanded himself. He was in control of this situation; Sherlock now had to wait to figure out where they were going tonight. John watched Sherlock head into their room, leaving John to his thoughts.

Sherlock retreated to their room, completely stunned with how John handled that situation. Normally John would have cracked almost immediately once he felt Sherlock's fingers on him. This time though, none of Sherlock's usual tricks worked. Sherlock hit the nightstand next to the bed. Where could John possibly be taking me? he thought. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. John wasn't going to change his mind. Now, all he could do was wait.

"Come on, Sherlock!" John called from the living room. He paced around the living room. Where was Sherlock? They were supposed to leave five minutes ago. He went over to their bedroom door. "Sherlock?" he asked, placing his hand on the knob.

Right when he was about to open the door, Sherlock came waltzing out. John turned around and headed towards to front door. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder.

"Next time, don't call my name so loudly, John. I was only in the next room. It wasn't like I was in another flat."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh.

"What were you doing, Sherlock? You were supposed to be out here five minutes ago!"

Sherlock took his navy coat off of the hook near the door and slid his arms through the sleeves. Once it was on he grabbed his scarf and tied it around his neck.

"I was getting ready for our date. Is that a crime now?"

John quickly threw on his green jacket, opened the door, and walked over to the curb. A black cab was waiting for them. Sherlock opened the door for him and gestured for him to get into the car. John blushed slightly and slid into the car. Once they were both in the car, John spoke.

"No, it is not a crime. This night is just special and I want it to go well. I mean, this is our first anniversary, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled and squeezed John's hand gently.

"I know. I understand."

The cabbie raised his eyebrows at their exchange, but he didn't say anything. The rest of the drive was pretty quiet. It didn't bother John, though. Some people may have wanted to fill the silence, but he was perfectly content with it.

After about fifteen minutes, they arrived at their destination. The cab drive pulled over to the curb.

"We have arrived," he said.

John hustled out of the cab and paid the driver while Sherlock got out of the cab. Once he paid the cab, John went over to Sherlock, who was staring at the restaurant. The restaurant was placed along a narrow street that was lit with street lamps. Some people walked on the sidewalk, talking quietly amongst themselves. Sherlock simply stared at the restaurant. A small smile played at John's lips.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, gesturing to the restaurant.

Sherlock smiled.

"I think that this is a very good choice for our anniversary."

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, really. Now, if we were on a case, I would have said that this was a poor choice."

"I know. That's why I picked it; I knew that you wouldn't be working on any cases on our anniversary."

"That was a good idea, John," Sherlock said, stepping closer to the Italian restaurant.

John nodded.

"I have one of those once in a while." He said, throwing open the door. He gestured for Sherlock to go in. "After you, Sherlock."

Sherlock walked into the restaurant. It wasn't a very big restaurant, but it wasn't tiny, either. The bar was located along the right wall which opened right into the kitchen. The chefs were running around behind the bar, shouting orders to the servers who hid behind the wall. John walked over to the host stand to give their name.

"What's the reservation under?" The hostess asked.

"It's under Holmes," John said, glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock.

Sherlock, of course, was looking at an elder woman who was sitting by herself on a bench that was situated near the entrance. Always making deductions, John thought, shaking his head. While he didn't know that Sherlock was definitely making deductions, he could tell. Sherlock's eyes were only focused on the woman, as if he was analyzing every detail.

The hostess typed the name into the computer and nodded.

"Right. Reservation for two at seven thirty?" she asked, grabbing two menus from the side of the stand.

John nodded. The hostess smiled and motioned for them to follow her.

"Sherlock, let's go. Leave the poor old lady alone."

Sherlock had moved closer to the woman and narrowed his eyes.

"Come on, Sherlock," John grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him into the dining room, where the hostess was waiting.

"Follow me," the hostess said.

They weaved through the tables until they stopped in front of a table that was located in between two large windows that showed the street. Sherlock and John took their seats as the hostess left. John smiled at Sherlock.

"Thank you for coming to dinner with me," he said.

"Why are you thanking me, John?"

John hesitated a second before speaking.

"You didn't have to come with me, but you chose to."

"Why wouldn't I go to dinner with you?"

He shrugged.

"You probably could have found a case to start working on instead," he said quietly. His cheeks turned rosy.

Sherlock shook his head and extended his arm so his hand rested on top of John's. He squeezed it gently.

"John, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be here. Today is our first year anniversary. I want to celebrate that with you."

At first, John wanted to have a few friends over for their one year anniversary, but Sherlock declined that offer. He knew that some people liked to have their friends over for an anniversary celebration, but that wasn't what Sherlock wanted. All he wanted was to spend time with the person that he cared about the most.

John smiled and opened up the menu. He glanced down at the dinner items right as the waitress came over to introduce herself.

About an hour later, John and Sherlock had just finished their meals. John had ordered a pizza while Sherlock had ordered pasta with some type of shellfish in it. John didn't think that Sherlock would be able to finish the pasta, but he ate all of it.

The waitress came over with a dessert menu. She grinned at Sherlock and John as she placed the menu on the table.

"I don't know if you're interested, but there's a menu of all of our desserts. If you have any questions, feel free to ask," she placed the menu on the table and walked away, leaving Sherlock and John to themselves.

John took the menu and opened it. He quickly scanned it before looking back at Sherlock, who was staring at him with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"What?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"If you want to get desert, get some. I can't promise that I'll order, but I won't stop you from getting something."

John's eyebrows raised.

"Really? You won't even complain about waiting for it to come out?"

"No, I won't."

John smiled and nodded.

"Thanks, Sherlock."

Just then, the waitress came back over to their table. She looked over at John who had finished looking at the menu.

"What can I get for you?"

"Can I have the tiramisu?"

She scribbled the order down on her notepad.

"Of course." She glanced over at Sherlock. "Can I get anything for you, sir?" she asked, batting her eyelashes slightly.

Sherlock shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid that I do not want anything. Also, batting your eyelashes won't get anyone to order more food. You would have more luck smiling at your customer."

John's mouth opened, but he didn't say anything; there wasn't any use of correcting Sherlock. Sherlock was going to do what he wanted to do. The waitress pursed her lips, turned on her heels, and left. John leaned over the table.

"You know, that wasn't very nice, Sherlock... she wasn't doing anything wrong. She only wanted us to buy more food because her boss wants her to sell the menu items."

Sherlock glanced around the restaurant. John watched Sherlock closely until Sherlock's eyes met his.

"This is a four-star restaurant. The owners of this place make plenty of money. Plus, it's Italian, and a lot of people enjoy going out to Italian restaurants. There's no reason for the managers to make the waitresses sell a ton of stuff."

John didn't say anything; Sherlock placed his napkin on the table and pushed himself away from the table.

"Excuse me; I have to use the loo," he said, getting up and going down a narrow hallway that was a few feet away from them.

John watched Sherlock go and smiled. Even though Sherlock hadn't been overly kind to the waitress, he had been nice to most people tonight, which was different for him. Sherlock always seemed to butt heads with people. John fiddled with the napkin in his lap until Sherlock strode back into the dining room. As always, he looked stunning. His curls bounced as he walked, and his cheeks were slightly rosy.

John cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the seat, but he suddenly couldn't get comfortable. Why did he have to be dating someone who looked like that? Even though John had been dating Sherlock for a year, he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he was dating someone who was so attractive. Sherlock pushed his seat back and sat back down; a small smirk was plastered across his face.

"What are you smiling about?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged and took a sip of wine. John narrowed his eyes.

"Sherlock-"

He was cut off by the waitress. She placed the tiramisu down in front of John, and left as soon as the plate touched the table. John muttered his thanks and looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock gestured to the plate.

"Aren't you going to take a bite?"

John opened his mouth in protest, but didn't say anything. He took a bite of the tiramisu and closed his eyes; it was delicious. He smiled and took another bite, completely content with letting the previous conversation die away.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! I am sorry that I am posting this a day or two later than I had originally planned; time seemed to slip away from me. Anyways, here is the next installment of the story! Feel free to leave a comment (I do read through each and every comment so yours won't go unnoticed). Also, I want to say thank you for supporting and reading this story; it means a lot to me. Happy reading!  
**

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****Sherlock intwined his fingers with John's as they left the restaurant. John mumbled thanks to the hostess and followed Sherlock out of the restaurant. Once they reached the curb, Sherlock let go of John's hand and hailed a cab. Sherlock opened the door for John and let him slide into the cab first. Once John was seated, Sherlock slid in until his thigh was only a few inches away from his. Sherlock placed his hand on John's thigh and gave it a light squeeze. John bit his lip. Chills ran up and down his spine. He glanced over at Sherlock who was grinning. Two can play at that game, John thought.

He scooted over closer to Sherlock so his mouth was only a few centimeters away from Sherlock's ear.

"You think that you're so clever," he murmured against Sherlock's ear. His lips brushed against Sherlock's outer ear. Sherlock immediately went rigid. John grinned. "You see? I can play, too."

Sherlock's breath came out raggedly; he looked at John's lips and then looked away. John smiled and touched Sherlock's cheek. He gently turned Sherlock's face towards him. Sherlock stared at John with wide eyes. John kissed Sherlock; at first Sherlock was rigid, but he soon melted into the kiss. His lips pressed harder against John's while he snaked his hands into the John's hair that was right on top of his neck. John moved his body closer to Sherlock's. Their knees brushed; little ice cubes climbed their way up Sherlock's spine, causing him to tremble under John's touch.

The cab driver murmured something about arriving at 221B, but Sherlock and John didn't hear him; they were too lost in their own world, completely captivated by the other person.

"Oi! You two! This isn't a kissing booth!"

John broke the kiss and turned red.

"Can you pay, John?" Sherlock asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I don't have any cash on me."

"Sure. I'll see you inside."

Sherlock rushed inside the flat while John paid the cab driver.

"I'm...I'm sorry about earlier," John said, tripping over the words.

The cab driver shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. I've seen all kinds of activity in the back of the cab."

John nodded and headed towards the flat, ready to crawl into bed with Sherlock and call it a night. Even though they hadn't really done anything "exciting" for their anniversary, John had had a great time. He opened the door to the flat and ran up the stairs, eager to tell Sherlock that he wanted to continue their "celebration" in their bedroom.

John smiled to himself and opened the door to the flat. That's weird, why did Sherlock close the door? John thought. He and Sherlock always left the door open.

"Sherlock?" he called as he entered the flat. "Sherlock why-"

All words escaped him when he saw the room. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he couldn't stop staring at the person that was in front of him.

Sherlock had told John that he forgot his wallet when he really didn't. He lied because he needed a few extra minutes to run into the flat and get it ready. He shut the door to the cab and walked quickly into the flat, not stopping until he was in the kitchen. He went over to the cupboard that contained a bunch of candles. Sherlock had been planning on using them for an experiment, but he could always buy new ones. He scooped a bunch up in his arms and placed them around the kitchen and in the living room. His breath came out raggedly; this had to be perfect. He re-arranged some of the candles so that they made a small circle on the coffee table in the living room.

"Better," he muttered to himself, running over to a nightstand to get the lighter.

Once he lit all the candles, he checked his pocket for the token that he wanted to give John. He smiled to himself when he felt the familiar shape of the packaging. The door that led up to the flat opened. Sherlock ran his hand through his hair and walked quickly into the middle of the room so John would see him right when he walked in. The door to the flat flew open. John was calling Sherlock's name, but he didn't answer. John would see him soon enough.

Sure enough, John cut himself off when he saw Sherlock standing there in the middle of the room with candlelight bouncing off of his thin form. Now, Sherlock, Sherlock commanded himself. Now was the perfect time. He went over to John and took his hand. He led John back into the middle of the room. John looked up at him with wide eyes, with lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to speak.

"John, there is something I must confess," Sherlock began, his voice barely above a whisper. John pursed his lips and watched Sherlock expectantly. "Before I met you, John, I never believed that I would find someone who would put up with me, who would want to learn more about me. No one has really expressed any interest in me, John. People usually call me 'freak' and leave me alone. You, however... you didn't call me a freak. You moved in with me. We became flatmates and friends... something I never deemed possible before I met you."

John shifted his foot from one foot to another. He bit his lip lightly.

"The more we spent time together, the more I wanted to learn about you. When we started to date...I didn't know what to expect. I thought that you would want to leave me after you learned even more about me. But, here you are, still with me." Sherlock took the familiar box out of his pocket and gracefully fell to one knee. His eyes met John's. John's mouth opened.

"Sherlock, what-" John began, his voice hoarse.

"John," Sherlock said as he opened the box, revealing a thin silver ring. "I never wanted to spend this much time with someone. No one was ever worth my time. But I want to spend as much time as I can with you, if you let me. If you let me, I will stay with you, just as you have stayed with me for the last few years. I never want to live without you," Sherlock licked his lips. "John, will you...will you marry me?"

John grinned.

"Yes, you idiot, of course I will," John said.

A grin spread across Sherlock's face and he leaned close to John. Their lips met; they pressed against each other's lips lightly, as if they would break the other person if they applied too much pressure. John weaved his hand into the curly hair that marked the back of Sherlock's head. He tugged lightly, pulling Sherlock closer to him. Sherlock moved closer and pressed his lips harder against John's, trying to open them with the pressure of his lips. John kissed him harder and pulled away.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open when he felt John's lips leave his. He crossed his arms.

"Why did you do that? Were you not enjoying the kiss?" Sherlock asked, looking up at John.

John ran a hand through Sherlock's curls, hoping to calm him; his breath came out raggedly.

"Shhh, it's okay, Sherlock. You can stand up, if you want to," John said. Sherlock gave a small smile and stood up. "I was enjoying the kiss, so don't worry about that."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him into a hug. He rested his head against Sherlock's chest; his hands made small circles on Sherlock's back. Sherlock relaxed and let more of his weight fall against John. John smiled.

"Were you planning on proposing at the restaurant?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock pulled away and narrowed his eyes.

"Is that why you broke the kiss? Because you wanted to ask me that question?"

"Yeah, it is why."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"And I thought I was the one who tended to over think things."

John lightly slapped Sherlock's forearm.

"Hey! Thinking isn't a bad thing."

"It is when we're kissing," Sherlock mumbled, looking down at the floor.

John rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I'll make it up to you later, okay? If you answer my question, that is."

Sherlock's face lit up; he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really? You'll make it up to me? How?"

"You'll just have to wait and see. Now, answer my question, Sherlock. Stop trying to avoid it."

Sherlock ran a hand through his black hair. He knew that John was probably going to ask him about the proposal and he didn't mind that. But what if John was only asking this question because he didn't like how he proposed? Sherlock shook the thought out of his head. No, John liked the proposal. If he didn't, he would have never said yes. Clearly he liked something about it. Sherlock let his breath out slowly. John crossed his arms.

"Come on, Sherlock. Tell me."

"Fine. Yes, I wanted to propose to you at the restaurant, but the restaurant refused to arrange the area like I wanted."

"How did you want it?" John asked.

"I wanted them to turn off all the lights and light candles around our table instead, but they refused to do that. They said said that it would disrupt the meals of other guests. They said that I should have rented out the whole restaurant if I wanted to propose to you that way."

John looked at Sherlock, stunned.

"Why didn't you want to wait?"

"Because I wanted to ask you tonight. You said tonight was special, so I wanted to do something that was special."

John smiled and lightly kissed Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock smiled and pressed his forehead against John's.

"Well, it was special, Sherlock."

"I did good, then?" Sherlock asked, lifting his head enough that he could just see John's face.

"Yes, you did good, Sherlock," John whispered, pressing his head back against Sherlock's. "You did good."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Here is the next installment of the story. Thank you so much for reading it and commenting on it. It really means a lot to me. As always, feel free to leave a comment after you read the chapter. Again, thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. I hope you enjoy it!  
**

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****Sherlock strolled into the kitchen the next morning with only purple pants and a navy blue robe. His curls were going in every direction, and his usually perfectly shaven face had some stubble on it. He walked over to John who was waiting for the kettle to boil. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock said, tightening his grip before letting go and heading over to the messy kitchen table.

"Good morning, Sherlock."

The kettle screamed and John took if off of the heat before it woke up the neighbors. John poured the water into two mugs and placed a bag of tea in each of them. He went over to the table and sat down across from Sherlock who was rifling through the newspapers on the table. Once he found one that he liked, Sherlock took it from the pile and opened it.

"Anything worth mentioning?" John asked a few minutes later.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Not as of yet. Seems like the crime scene in London has quieted."

"Maybe you scared them off," John said, grinning.

Sherlock frowned and placed the newspaper next to his cup of tea.

"I hope that is not the case. I will not have anything to do if they stop committing crimes."

John finished his tea and went over to the counter to put a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

"I'm sure that there will be more cases. Lestrade probably hasn't had any really interesting ones yet."

Sherlock slapped his hand onto the table.

"But I want a case! John, it has been a week since our last case."

John narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Really? A week?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed.

"Fine. A few days." Sherlock looked down at the front page of the newspaper. "It feels like a week, though." he mumbled.

John opened his mouth to say something, but the toaster popped, revealing two tan slices of bread. He took them out and quickly spread some strawberry jam onto the slices.

"Do you want some toast, Sherlock?" John asked, hoping that the detective would say yes.

"No thanks. I ate yesterday; I should be fine until tonight or tomorrow morning."

John sighed and went over to the table. He set the plate onto the table and gazed at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you know that you can't go days without eating. I know that you have been getting better about eating, but you're still not eating enough. And you're not on a case, so you do not have any excuse to not be eating."

"But I don't want to eat. I want a case."

John ran a hand over his face.

"Look, if you eat something, I'll call Lestrade and see if they have any cases for us."

The sides of Sherlock's mouth turned upwards; his eyes lit up.

"Really? You'll call him if I eat?"

"Yes, I will. But you have to eat."

"Fine."

John smiled and headed back over to the counter.

"What do you want, then?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock.

"Toast sounds good."

"Toast it is."

Sherlock normally ate two slices, but since he hadn't eaten much for the last two days, John decided to give him three.

"What do you want on it?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Surprise me."

Once the toast was ready, John spread butter onto two slices and put Nutella on the other. He set the plate down in front of Sherlock and gestured towards it.

"There you go."

Sherlock pouted but took a bite of the toast anyways. John smiled and sat down across from Sherlock.

"When are you going to call Lestrade?" Sherlock asked once he had polished off a slice of toast.

John chuckled.

"I'll call him after you eat. Now, eat."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh but ate anyways. John smiled and watched Sherlock eat the rest of his breakfast.

John grabbed his cell phone off of the coffee table and dialed Lestrade's number. Sherlock watched him from the kitchen, not letting his eyes wander off of John. John gave Sherlock a smile smile while he waited for Lestrade to pick up the phone. He shifted from one foot to the other.

"John?" Lestrade's low voice came through the receiver. John let out a breath.

"Hi Lestrade. I was wondering- well, Sherlock was wondering if you had any cases for him?"

Lestrade mumbled something under his breath. John heard a door- probably the door to Lestrade's office- close.

"I may have one for him. I need to go to crime scene first though and see if we can solve it."

"Are you going to the crime scene today?"

"Yeah, I'm heading over in a few minutes. I'll call you if I need Sherlock and you to come over."

John smiled.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

John hung up and slid his phone into his jean pocket.

"So?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. His eyes gleamed under the kitchen lights.

"He said that he's heading to a crime scene now. He'll call us if he needs us."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a bite of toast angrily.

"Of course he'll need our help. He always needs our help."

John smiled and walked over to Sherlock. He stood next to Sherlock and ran his hand through his hair. Sherlock hummed softly and closed his eyes.

"Shh, it'll be alright, Sherlock. He'll call if he needs us."

He felt Sherlock relax under his fingers; Sherlock leaned into John and placed his head on his stomach. A small shiver ran up John's spine. Sherlock glanced up at John.

"What was that?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

John shrugged and picked up Sherlock's plate.

"I know that you asked that because you're concerned about me. Why are you concerned?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not concerned; I just wanted to make sure that you were feeling okay because you haven't eaten for a few days and sometimes that makes you more irritable."

"I do not get irritable when I do not eat! Plus, I just ate, so of courseI wouldn't be irritable."

John nodded and rinsed off the dish in the sink. He toweled it dry and placed it back into the cupboard. Right when he did, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Hello?" he asked, picking up the phone.

"Yes, hi, John, it's Lestrade." said a familiar voice.

John's eyes flickered towards Sherlock's face. Sherlock smirked and gestured for John to say something.

"Hi, Lestrade. So what's the update?"

There was a pause. He heard someone in the distance ask Lestrade who he was talking to. When he told them who he was talking to, they yelled at him for asking the "freak and his sidekick" to come to the crime scene. Apparently they could solve the case by themselves. Lestrade let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry about that, John. So, we need you down here as soon as possible. I thought that we could handle this by ourselves, but we can't. We need you two."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised; he looked at John expectantly.

"Don't worry about it, Lestrade. Just tell us the address and we'll be there as quick as possible."

A grin spread across Sherlock's face as John reached for a notepad and pen.

"Yeah, I got it, thanks." He finished scribbling down the address on the paper. "We'll see you soon."

With that, he hung up and glanced over at Sherlock who was staring at him with wide blue- almost silver- eyes.

"So, Lestrade needs us, huh?" Sherlock asked, eyes gleaming.

"Yes, seems like it."

Sherlock jolted out of his chair and ran over to the door so he could grab his coat. John smiled, shook his head slightly, and followed the detective out of the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Well, here's the fifth installment of the story! This chapter is slightly longer than the other chapters, so I hope that you don't mind! As always, feel free to leave a comment after you're finished reading the chapter! Thank you so much for your continued support. It means a lot to me. Anyways, happy reading! **

* * *

They arrived at the crime scene around noon. The sun was high above London, shining brightly over the city. Sherlock got out of the cab first and held the door open for John. John slid out and nodded at Sherlock, thanking him silently. Sherlock nodded, shut the door, and followed him to the area that was sealed off with caution tape.

Sherlock's gaze fell on the building that stood before them. Cop cars were parked in front of a large white brick building. Sherlock glanced around more and realized that they were, in fact, in Belgravia. He smiled; he hadn't been in this part of London in a while. A small porch that sat in front of the building was taped off with yellow caution tape.

"Why are we in Belgravia?" John asked quietly.

"Because the cab took us here," Sherlock said.

John ran a hand over his face.

"Yes, I know that, but why would someone want to commit a crime here?"

Sherlock walked over to the caution tape.

"I don't know. Let's find out."

Donovan walked out of the building and rolled her eyes when she saw Sherlock.

"Lestrade told me that you were coming here, freak. Didn't have anything better to do today, huh? Couldn't let us just try to solve the case?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Donovan. Of course, she would be here. He rarely went to a crime scene without her being there. He probably wouldn't mind her being at crime scenes if she stopped calling him "freak". It wasn't as if he didn't know that he was different than most people. He knew that he was. Most people were worrying about trivial things while he worried about more important things like his relationship with John and trying to protect the innocent people of London.

"What, cat got your tongue, freak? Can't even speak now, can you?"

John curled his hand into a fist and took a step in front of Sherlock, shielding him from Donovan. Sherlock placed his hand on John's forearm.

"It's okay," Sherlock whispered.

"No, it's not," John whispered back. He looked at Donovan. "Look, Sally, I know that you may not like Sherlock, but that does not give you an excuse to be rude to him. If you want to talk behind our backs, fine. But while we're here, helping you lot, don't call him any names. Got it?"

Donovan rolled her eyes.

"Oh, are you his bodyguard now?" Her gaze flicked to Sherlock who was glaring at her. "Can't he take care of himself?"

Lestrade made his way out of the building and waved at Sherlock and John, breaking the conversation. Donovan gave Sherlock a glare, and stalked off towards Anderson, who was standing on the porch, staring at Sherlock and John. Lestrade ran a hand through his graying hair.

"I'm sorry about Donovan, Sherlock. I know that she and you don't exactly get along. I try to tell her to stop being rude to you, but she doesn't listen to me," Lestrade said, frowning.

Sherlock shrugged; there wasn't anything else he could do, after all. He would tell Lestrade to simply fire Donovan, but he knew that Lestrade wouldn't do that. Lestrade lifted up the caution tape so Sherlock and John could go into the building. He led the boys to the top floor.

"So, what are we dealing with?"

Some people from the police force narrowed their eyes at Sherlock as he passed. He acted like he didn't see their stares, but he did. He could feel the weight of their eyes on his back. John glanced at him and gave him a small, reassuring smile; it was as if he could read Sherlock's mind.

"A man was supposed to meet his wife somewhere else, but he never showed. About an hour ago, the wife called, informing us about her missing husband. We found him here, dead. We're not sure how he died though. There are no signs of struggle or injury."

Lestrade opened the door to a bedroom. The bed was jutting out of the farthest wall so the foot of the bed was facing towards the door. A man was laying on the bed, face down. He was wearing a black pinstripe suit. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and strolled towards the body. John tilted his head in Lestrade's direction, silently asking him if he could join Sherlock. Lestrade simply nodded and went over to the corner of the room to turn on the floor lamp.

Sherlock took out his pocket magnifying glass and examined the victim carefully. After scanning the body, Sherlock realized that Lestrade was right; there weren't any bruises on the body. It seemed as if the killer had a more advanced way of killing. He turned slowly, taking in every detail of the room. There was a closed dresser on the wall next to the bed which had a bunch of pictures placed on top. Two vents marked the walls that led to the bathroom and walk-in closets. Sherlock smirked, and went over to the vents. John followed him silently, allowing him to have plenty of space to deduce.

Most of the time, John would have tried to help Sherlock in some way, but the truth was, he didn't have any idea how this victim died. It seemed to him that he just keeled over because he was dehydrated or something. He knew that wasn't the case, though. If it had been, he would have been able to tell. And he was sure that the police officers would have been able to tell if he had been killed by something like that. So, instead of helping Sherlock, John went to the corner of the room.

John watched Sherlock as walked around the room, searching in every nook for something that would lead him to the killer. Lestrade followed him, eyebrows furrowing.

"Do you have any ideas as to who the killer is?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shook his head and leaned over the rubbish bin that was placed right next to a dark wooden dresser. Sherlock took a pair of plastic gloves out of his pocket, slid them on, and rifled through the trash. Lestrade scrunched his nose and threw a look in John's direction. John simply shrugged. He may live with Sherlock, but that didn't mean he could read Sherlock's mind. Lestrade sighed and focused back on Sherlock who pulled out a shot from the trash. He shook his head.

"Lazy," he muttered to himself, walking back over the victim. He slid his pocket magnifying open with one hand as he held the shot with the other. He quickly scanned the victim's face and neck. He paused when he landed on a spot right behind the victim's ear. "Bingo."

Sherlock put the shot in the plastic bag that one of the police officers had placed next to the victim's body. He placed the bag next to the victim's head and slid off his gloves. A smile was plastered on his face as he made his way to Lestrade.

"So, you solved the case, then?" Lestrade asked, looking at the bag and then back at Sherlock.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure that the butler killed the victim because he treated him incredibly rudely and he wanted to steal his money without getting caught. I highly doubt that I'm wrong about the butler, but if you think that I am, you will want to scan the shot for fingerprints. They will lead you to the murderer."

John walked over to Sherlock, mouth hanging slightly open.

"That's brilliant, Sherlock," he said, smiling.

Sherlock's gaze lingered on John's a second or two longer than it should have. No one seemed to notice, though. No one ever did, really.

"Thanks," Sherlock said quietly.

Lestrade nodded and gestured for one of the other policemen to pick up the bag that Sherlock had put down.

"Thanks for solving the case, Sherlock. I actually really appreciate it. Thanks for coming down."

While some of the police force may have been rude to Sherlock, Lestrade was not among them. John wasn't quite sure why Lestrade did not tell his colleagues to be nicer to Sherlock, but he knew that that wasn't his place. Not yet, anyways. Maybe after he was married to Sherlock he would tell Lestrade to try to make the others be nicer to Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't a bad person, after all. Sure, he could be a little hard to deal with sometimes, but who wasn't?

"You're welcome. If you have any other questions about the case, you know how to contact me."

With that, he went over to the curb to hail a cab. John shifted his gaze onto Lestrade who was looking at Sherlock intently.

"Does he ever get overwhelming?" Lestrade asked, voice soft.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he is constantly deducing. Doesn't that get annoying?"

John shrugged.

"I don't really mind it. You get used to it, after a while."

Lestrade nodded and sighed.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering. People here always say that he is annoying, so I wanted to hear your take. You live with him, after all."

"Yeah, well, he's never been too overwhelming."

"Glad to hear it." Lestrade gestured to a cab that had just pulled over. "Looks like your ride is here. I'll talk to you later, John. Again, thanks for coming out and helping us. We appreciate it." He glanced around at the other police officers. "Well, I appreciate it, anyways."

John nodded and shook his hand. Lestrade glanced down at John's hand. His eyebrows raised as he glanced at John.

"What's-"

"John, come on! The cab driver won't wait here forever, you know," Sherlock called.

"Well, I have to go...Sherlock won't wait much longer."

He scurried away from Lestrade, leaving him staring after him. Sherlock let John slide in before him. Sherlock got in, shut the door, and told the cab driver where they wanted to go. John glanced over at Sherlock.

"I think Lestrade knows about us, Sherlock."

Sherlock smirked.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

Sherlock shrugged and placed his hand over John's.

"That's okay. He would find out eventually."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! So, here is chapter 6! Things have seemed to be going well between John and Sherlock in the previous chapters, but will that type of behavior between them continue? Well, read the next chapter to find out!  
**  
**Also thank you so much for your continued support. It really means a lot to me. As always, feel free to leave a comment at the end. I do read through the comments, so your comment will not go unnoticed.**

**Okay, enough rambling. I hope that you enjoy this chapter!  
**

* * *

John walked into the flat with two bags of groceries. Normally Mrs. Hudson brought them some food, but she was currently visiting her friend who lived out of town. John glanced over one of the bags at the flat. Sherlock was laying on the couch, feet pointed at John, with his eyes closed. John smirked and went over to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

John opened a cupboard door and put away a few boxes of crackers. Crackers were the only thing that Sherlock seemed to eat when he was on a case. He still didn't eat enough for John's liking, but John knew that Sherlock would never eat a whole meal while they were working a case.

"How was the store, John?"

John whirled around, startled. Sherlock was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair stuck up in some places.

"It was, uh, good," John said, focusing on his feet. "I got a few boxes of crackers for you, Sherlock."

He heard Sherlock chuckle. A shiver ran up John's spine.

"John," he heard the familiar voice say.

John glanced up; Sherlock stood only a foot away from him. John felt blood rush to his cheeks. Even though he had lived with Sherlock for a few years, he still wasn't used to Sherlock standing so close to him.

"You're flustered," Sherlock continued, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

John cleared his throat.

"No, I'm not."

"Really? I disagree." Sherlock closed the space even more between him and John. His lips were only a few inches away from John. He started to lean in towards Sherlock, but Sherlock moved so his lips were right next to John's ear. "Your pupils are dilated, John."

A series of shivers ran up John's spine. Sherlock chuckled; John's lips pulled down into a frown.

"Sherlock..." John began, glancing up at the detective. Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together. "You know, you never gave me a good morning kiss." It was a silly statement, but he didn't care.

Sherlock laughed; he closed the space between him and John completely and pressed his lips onto John's. John shuddered slightly when Sherlock's lips grazed his. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. Right when John wanted to deepen the kiss, Sherlock pulled away. John groaned.

"Why did you do that?"

"The groceries are going to get warm and spoil. You should put them away before they do."

John rolled his eyes.

"That's why you broke the kiss? To tell me to put the groceries away?"

Sometimes John didn't understand why he put up with Sherlock and did all of the chores for him. He knew that Sherlock was often busy with experiments and cases, but that didn't give him an excuse to never help John do laundry or clean around the house or help with anything else that he had to do. John's lips pursed together.

"John," Sherlock began, placing a hand on John's shoulder. John shrugged away from Sherlock.

"No," John said, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned and took a small step towards John.

"John I-"

"Sherlock, I don't want to hear it." He glanced over Sherlock's shoulder at the white microscope that was sitting on the kitchen table. "Don't you have some experiment that you can be doing?"

"But John-" Sherlock began again, taking a step closer.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He let out a breath and opened them. Sherlock was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Sherlock, I told you, I don't want to hear it. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to put away these groceries because I, apparently, am the only who can put them away."

Before Sherlock could say another word, John went around him. He took a bunch of items out of the brown bags and tried to find a spot to put them in the kitchen. Sherlock watched him for a second before he took his place in front of his microscope, leaving John to his thoughts.

Sherlock looked into the microscope as some of his hair fell across one of his eyes. He brushed it out of the way quickly, and adjusted the knob on the microscope so he could examine the cheek cells more efficiently. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see. He thought that cheek cells would be an interesting cell to study, but he was incorrect. The cell looked as boring as any other cell he had examined.

He let out a sigh and pushed the microscope away from him. He made a mental note to talk to Molly tomorrow about getting another type of cell. Maybe he would try to look at eye cells. They were always pretty interesting to study. He glanced over his shoulder. John was right behind him, standing on his tiptoes to put some flour above the refrigerator. Sherlock smirked and went over to John. He stood next to John for a few seconds before he reached over to grab the flour out of his hand.

"Sherlock, I got it. Don't you have some experiment to be doing?" John snapped. Sherlock winced at the sound of his voice.

"John, I'm-" Sherlock began, his voice soft. He wanted to try to apologize to John about earlier, but John refused to listen to him. He's never going to forgive you, a small voice said in the back of his mind.

"Sherlock, I really do not want to hear it. Go busy yourself with something. Leave me alone."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but he closed it before anything came out. He turned on his heels and left the kitchen. On the way to his room, he grabbed his violin so he could play it without bothering John. Once he was in his room, he went over to his window and slid the bow of the violin up and down the strings, creating a beautiful, low melody. The sound echoed off of the walls, encasing Sherlock in his own world that was filled with music.

John grunted and got down from the counter. Normally Sherlock was supposed to put the flour in the high cupboards, but John had refused to let him help him today. Not after what he said to him. He didn't understand how Sherlock could say something like that to him. Maybe he was just nervous about kissing you, a small voice said. John rolled his eyes. Yeah, that would be the day. If anyone got nervous when him and Sherlock kissed, it was John. Sighing, John closed the cupboard and went into his room. His laptop sat on his desk, staring at him. John shut the door and sat down in front of his laptop. The screen lit up when he placed his hand on the trackpad. Guess I'll work on my blog, then, John thought, opening up the internet. Once his blog loaded, he typed away, telling his 'guests' what had happened between him and Sherlock.

John's phone vibrated next to him, sending him out of his thoughts. He blinked away from his laptop screen and glanced down at the phone.

"Hello?" John asked after he clicked the 'answer' button.

"Hi John, it's Greg."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything is fine. I was calling because I was wondering if you wanted to grab a beer after I get off of work."

"Sure. When are you done with work?"

"At six." John glanced at the clock. That was only a few hours away.

"Sounds good. Do you want to meet at our usual place?"

"Sure. I'll see you then, John."

With that, Lestrade hung up. John smirked and put his phone back onto his desk. Every once in a while, Lestrade and him met up for a beer. Normally John didn't really talk during these meetings, but he didn't mind. Lestrade was going through a rough time with his wife lately, and John seemed to be the only person who would listen to Lestrade without telling him that this 'rough patch' was all his fault. Plus, he thought that Donovan and Anderson wouldn't want to listen to him which made Lestrade turn to him.

John read over his blog entry one more time and published it. He glanced around his room and sighed; it was a mess. He had wanted to clean it earlier, but he never actually cleaned it. John cursed under his breath and got up from his chair, determined to clean his room completely before he had to leave to meet Lestrade. So, he started to clean his room, hoping that he would be able to have it completely cleaned by the time he had to meet Lestrade.

Sherlock glanced in the direction of John's room as he went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He hadn't seen, or even heard, John for hours. He frowned and took a sip of water. Sherlock knew that he screwed up; he knew that he let John down in some way. He may have been bad at reading people's emotions, but he knew when John was upset.

All he wanted to do was to go into John's room and apologize. After all, John never went into his room, save for when he had to get something or was very upset with him. Sherlock put his glass in the sink and headed back over to the family room. His violin was perched on the side of the couch. He picked it up and sat down in his favorite chair. Where is John? he thought, glancing back in the direction of John's room. Obviously, Sherlock knew that he was in his room, but he didn't understand why John hadn't come out yet. He plucked the strings of the violin absentmindedly, filling the room with a low, sharp, sounds.

Sighing, Sherlock grabbed his bow, and played one of his favorite songs, hoping that that would calm his racing mind.

About thirty minutes later, Sherlock heard a door creak open. He put down his violin and looked in the direction of the sound. John walked through the family room without glancing in Sherlock's direction.

"John?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head and kept walking towards the door.

"John, where are you going?" Sherlock scanned John up and down, hoping that he would be able to tell where he was going. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell. John was wearing what he usually wore when he was going to a crime scene.

"John, please." Sherlock raced after John and cut him off right when he reached the door. John tried to go around Sherlock, but Sherlock mirrored his movements so he couldn't. John ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Sherlock, not now. I have to go somewhere. Please, move out of the way."

Sherlock stared at John for a second. John simply glanced down at the ground, refusing to meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock moved out of the way so John could leave. John walked past Sherlock and headed down the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Sorry about the delayed update! Here's the next installment. Feel free to leave a comment with any praises or criticisms, as always. Anyways, thank you again for your continued support and I hope that you enjoy this chapter! Happy reading!**

* * *

Once John was outside, he hailed a cab. A cab pulled over, and before John knew it, he was heading to the pub that Lestrade had told him to go to. About ten minutes later, the cab pulled over at a pub that was housed in a red brick building. He paid the cabbie and got out. Lestrade was standing outside of the pub, his hands in his coat pockets.

"It's nice to see you, John," Lestrade said, shaking John's hand.

"You too, Greg."

They walked into the pub and took a seat at the bar that was placed on the right side of the restaurant. Conversation echoed off of the walls. A few groups of people were sitting down throughout the restaurant with some type of alcoholic beverage in front of them. John felt himself begin to smile until his eyes landed on a couple that was in the back of the restaurant. The girl was leaning across the table, eyes on her boyfriend's. John frowned and turned back to the bar.

"So, what do you want, John?" Lestrade asked.

John took in the scene in front of him and realized that the bartender was standing in front of him, waiting for him to order.

"Oh, I'll just take a Guinness," John said, leaning against the back of his chair.

The bartender nodded and hurried off to the other side of the bar.

"How was work?" John asked Lestrade after a few minutes of silence.

"Dreadful. Sometimes I hate working in this field, John. So many deaths and robberies. It's as if people cannot go one day without committing some type of crime." Lestrade took a sip of gin. "I wish I could just tell people to stop committing crimes. It would make my life much easier. Maybe I would try to work on my social life a bit if I didn't need to work at crazy hours."

Lestrade shook his head and gulped the rest of his gin down. He signaled for another round. The bartender nodded and went over to the part of the bar that held all the liquor. John frowned and took a sip of beer, trying to formulate his response carefully. Clearly Lestrade was very stressed right now and needed someone to talk to. Ever since Lestrade's wife left him, Lestrade had been all over the place. Sometimes he would be in a fantastic mood, but other times, like tonight, he looked like he wanted to punch every person he came into contact with. John didn't want to set him off any more.

"But you make a difference by being a detective," John began. The bartender went over to Lestrade and dropped off his drink. John gestured to his beer, hoping that the bartender understood that he needed another one. Lestrade rolled his eyes and slapped the counter.

"Come on, John. Don't be daft. Sherlock is the one who really solves the crime. I'm just the guy that sits back and does nothing."

John finished off the rest of his beer as the bartender gave him his new one.

"That's not true. Sherlock and I only help you when you can't solve certain crimes." Lestrade frowned. "And there's nothing wrong with that. Everyone needs to ask for help sometimes."

Lestrade chuckled and finished off his second glass of gin. He held his hand up so the bartender would know that he wanted another one.

"But I shouldn't need to ask for help, John. I'm a detective. I should be able to solve crimes with my team. I shouldn't need Sherlock to come in."

John narrowed his eyes and scanned Lestrade. Bags marked the bottom of his eyes, and his hair was sticking out in various directions. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, as if they had spent the night on the floor. John frowned; he had never seen Lestrade so disheveled.

"Have people been giving you grief for calling Sherlock and I in?" John asked; it was the only thing that he felt like he could ask.

The bartender came over with another glass of gin. Lestrade picked it up right after the bartender put it down and took a large swig of it. He grimaced and placed the cup back on the black marble counter.

"What does it matter if people have? John, I shouldn't be asking for help either way. Remember when you and Sherlock solved 'a study in pink'?"

How could John have forgotten that? That was the first time he and Sherlock had solved a case, after all. He smiled slightly at the memory. It seemed like that case was a lifetime ago instead of only a few years ago.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, I wasn't kidding when I told Sherlock that I was breaking all the rules by letting him into the crime scene. We aren't allowed to let outsiders into them."

John ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"I understand, but Sherlock isn't anyone, Greg. He's a consulting detective. This is what he does for a living."

"You do know that we don't pay him, right?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I know that. But that doesn't matter. He still solves crimes for a living. He enjoys helping you out whether he gets paid or not."

Lestrade mumbled something under his breath as he sipped his gin.

"I would just tell Donovan and Anderson to mind their own business, frankly," John said, knowing that they had planted these thoughts into Lestrade's head. After all, they would do anything to make Sherlock stop barging in on the crime scenes. John usually wanted to snap back at them when they said something rude to Sherlock, but he always told John to ignore them.

"I guess you're right." Lestrade said. He glanced down at John's right hand. "When did you get that?" Lestrade gestured to one of John's fingers.

John followed Lestrade's gaze to his hand. He swallowed; he wasn't sure how Lestrade was going to handle this. Even though Sherlock wasn't worried about their friends' take on their relationship, John couldn't help but be a tad bit nervous, especially since he had always told Lestrade that he wasn't interested in Sherlock in that way.

"A few days ago," John said. He finished off the rest of his beer and gestured to the bartender. The bartender nodded and started to pour John another glass.

"Yeah, and who gave that to you?" Lestrade asked, his eyes on John's face.

The bartender came over, dropped off John's beer and took his empty glass. John took a sip of the new beer, hoping to kill some time. Lestrade looked at him expectantly.

"Sherlock gave that to you, didn't he?" Lestrade finally asked after a few seconds. John swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah, he did. He proposed to me a few days ago," John said; he felt some blood rush to his cheeks.

Lestrade grinned and slapped John's back.

"Well, that's fantastic, John. I'm happy for you."

John raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You're not surprised?"

Lestrade shrugged.

"I mean, I figured that you two would get together sooner or later. You two looked like you were dating from like, the first moment I saw you."

John's eyes widened and he choked on some beer that he had just tried to take a sip of. He coughed several times before his throat cleared.

"You thought Sherlock and I would make a good couple from the moment you saw us together?"

Lestrade finished off his glass of gin.

"I didn't give it a lot of thought, but I could see you two getting together. Anyways, have you two decided on a date for the wedding? You two are getting married, right? You two aren't just going to elope?"

John laughed.

"Yeah, we're actually getting married. I don't have any idea when we'll be getting married though. Sherlock and I..." he trailed off. He remembered the fight that they had had earlier. After that, would Sherlock even want to get married? John shook his head and focused back on Lestrade. "Well, we haven't talked about it yet. He only proposed to me."

Lestrade's shook his head.

"What are you two waiting on? I remember when I proposed to my wife. She wanted to start planning it right away. She wouldn't shut up about the wedding, actually," Lestrade's gaze glazed over for a second; it looked like he was somewhere completely different. The look was fleeting, though; he blinked and then it was gone. "I didn't really understand why she was so excited about it, but I let her plan it right away. I knew that it was big day for her." John frowned. When he was younger, he hadn't really thought about his wedding, but he knew that he wanted a ceremony that he and his future spouse both liked. Lestrade glanced over at John. "So, why haven't you started to plan it? Did you get in a fight with Sherlock or something?"

John pursed his lips and brought his beer glass up to his lips. He took a hefty sip before he put it back down. Lestrade just shook his head.

"John, mate, what did Sherlock do?" Lestrade asked, seeming to register John's silence as an answer.

"It doesn't really matter what he did. He did something that he shouldn't have done." John said with a slight edge in his voice.

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair.

"I know that I am probably not the best person to go to for relationship advice, especially when it comes to Sherlock, but I'm sure that he didn't do whatever he did on purpose, or because he was trying to hurt you. You know that he doesn't always read situations correctly. Maybe he misread the situation."

John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to fight Lestrade, but the thing was, he was right. Sherlock didn't always read situations correctly. He had been getting better with them ever since he and John got together, but he still wasn't great at reading people or situations.

"Yeah, you're right," John said softly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hello all! Here's the next bit of the story. What will Sherlock do while John is gone? Will he do something stupid, or just perform an experiment? Well, you'll find out below! As always, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story if you wish. And, thank you again for your continued support.**

**Anyways, enough from me. Happy reading!  
**

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Sherlock got up and hurried over to the window that looked out on Baker Street. He scanned the sidewalk, but there wasn't any sign of a dirty-blonde haired man anywhere. Sighing, he went back over to the couch and flopped onto it. He glanced over at the clock that John had put on the mantle. John hadn't even been gone for an hour yet but it felt like he had been gone for ages. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but after several minutes, he realized that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. He reached for his phone and looked at the screen. Of course, John hadn't texted him. Sherlock had doubted that John would text him, but there was a small part of him that believed that John would.

Sherlock sighed again and tapped his long fingers against his thigh. Relax, Sherlock, a small voice told him. You're being illogical. John is perfectly fine. The logical part of Sherlock knew that John was probably fine, but there was a small part of him that thought something bad could have happened to John. He knew that those odds were slim, but he couldn't quiet that voice that kept telling him that John was laying somewhere, dead.

After about an hour and a half since John left, Sherlock couldn't sit still. He had tried to watch television in order to pass time, but it didn't distract him at all. All he could think about was John. He hopped off of the bed and started to search the room, hoping to find a white box that John had taken from him months back. He grinned when he found the white box in a book that Sherlock despised. John had cut out the center of the pages and stuck the box in the gap. He opened the box, took out a cigarette, and lit it with a lighter he kept on the mantle. Deep down, Sherlock knew that John would be mad at him for smoking, but at this point, Sherlock did not care if John became mad at him. All he wanted was John to get home. He slid the cigarette in between his lips, inhaled, and slowly let the smoke escape from his mouth. Chills ran up his spine. The part of him that he had ignored for the past few years turned on. It begged him to take drag after drag of the cigarette. Normally, he would have fought that voice-that part of him - but he wasn't in that place right now. All he wanted was for his brain to stop functioning. To slow down for once.

He took a few more drags of the cigarette, hoping that the effects of it would kick in. He went over to his chair and sat down; a few minutes later, he felt the muscles in his shoulders and lower back relaxing slightly. Smirking, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. See what you have been missing? the voice said, taunting Sherlock. Sherlock groaned softly and exhaled very slowly. Each time he exhaled, he felt more tension melting off of him; felt more of his thoughts disintegrating off into oblivion.

Once he had reached the end of the cigarette, he put it out and tossed it in an empty mug he had forgotten to put away earlier. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He pressed his head against the back of the chair and let the cigarette dangle from his lips for a few seconds before he inhaled and exhaled. John is probably fine, the logical part of him thought. Who cares? the other part of him countered. You have the cigarette now. Who needs John?

As if on cue, Sherlock heard the door from downstairs shut. Sherlock put the cigarette out quickly and threw it into the mug. He waved at the air to try to remove some of the smoke, but it wasn't any use. A huge cloud of smoke hung in the middle of the family room and the room stunk.

"Sherlock, why does it-" John began to ask as he stepped into the family room. He glanced over at Sherlock who was staring at John. "Sherlock, why is there smoke in the room?" His gaze shifted over to the mug that sat on the table in front of Sherlock. He rushed over to the mug and looked into it. Sherlock cringed and took a step away from John, as if he could distance himself from John's anger. John balled his hands into fists. "Sherlock, why are there cigarettes in here? I thought that you weren't going to smoke anymore. You told me that you were through with it."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he took a step towards John. John simply stared at him; his eyes locked onto Sherlock's.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock whispered; there wasn't anything else he could say.

"What I don't understand, Sherlock, is why you even felt the need to take these out to begin with? I thought that we had agreed that you would stay away from smoking."

Sherlock took a step away from John. He couldn't tell John why he started to smoke. He would think that Sherlock was too dependent on him. Even though they were engaged, there was a small part of Sherlock that believed John would leave him if he did something awful. John shook his head and grabbed Sherlock's arm.

"Sherlock, stop avoiding the question. I'm not...mad at you. I just want to know why you decided to smoke," John said softly.

"I did not know where you were John and I couldn't take it. Most of the time you tell me where you are going, but this time you did not. I thought that something bad happened to you. I became so anxious that I couldn't sit still. I knew smoking would calm me down...so I decided to smoke. I'm sorry, John." Sherlock looked down at the floor.

"I forgive you for smoking, Sherlock. Just don't do it again, okay? You know that it is bad for you. You may not always care about your health, but I do. I don't want anything to happen to you, either."

Sherlock gave a small smile but kept his gaze on the floor. John frowned and placed a hand on Sherlock's forearm.

"What's wrong? You don't need to worry, Sherlock. I'm not going to leave you."

Sherlock's eyes flicked to John's.

"Really?"

John nodded.

"Yes, really. I'm not going to leave you, so please do not worry about that."

Sherlock's smirk grew into a smile. John pulled Sherlock into a hug, and wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock, hoping that that would prove that he wasn't mad at him anymore.

John had entered the flat still ticked off at Sherlock, but here he was, hugging him, forgiving him for what he had done. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him closer to him. At first Sherlock was rigid, but he felt Sherlock slowly melt into the hug.

"John..." Sherlock began, his voice low.

"Yeah, Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled out of the hug and looked down at John. His eyes, for once, were soft; there wasn't any sign of his usual distant facade.

"I wanted to apologize for the way that I acted the other day. I didn't mean to offend you in any way."

John went rigid; he hadn't expected Sherlock to bring up the other day.

"I only mentioned the groceries because I wanted to make sure that the food didn't spoil-"

"I know, you told me, remember? Or did you delete it?" John snapped; he took another step away from Sherlock. Sherlock cringed.

"John, please," Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper. John shut his mouth and gestured for Sherlock to continue. He curled his hand into a fist in order to try to calm himself down. "Like I said, I did not mean to offend you. I wanted you to put away the groceries because I wanted to kiss you more. I didn't want us to get carried away and let the food spoil. I figured that if you put away the groceries first, we wouldn't risk them becoming spoiled. I didn't want to break the kiss, John. I just wanted to keep kissing you after you put the groceries away."

John simply stared at Sherlock.

"I know that you probably don't believe me, but that is the truth. I know that I shouldn't have mentioned the groceries while we were kissing, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry, John."

John let out the breath he was holding. Sherlock looked down at him with wide eyes.

"I forgive you, Sherlock. I didn't mean to get so upset about that. I just felt like you were blowing me off."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I wasn't... I didn't mean to make you upset."

"It's okay." John glanced around the flat. "So, where did you put those cigarettes?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. He shook his head and went over to his laptop that was on top of the coffee table. He opened it up and sat down on the couch. John watched him and sighed.

"Where are they, Sherlock? You know that you weren't supposed to smoke."

"What does it matter? I'm not smoking right now." John ran a hand over his face. Sherlock stared at him; his head titled to the side a little.

"But if you leave the cigarettes out you'll be more tempted to smoke. Just tell me where they are so I can hide them."

"You know that I'll just find them again when I want to smoke," Sherlock said.

John let out a breath slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Patience, John he told himself. He inhaled and exhaled a few times before he felt the tension leave his shoulders.

"Please, Sherlock. Just tell me where they are. You know that smoking isn't good for you."

Sherlock ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Fine." Sherlock reached into his pocket and revealed a white box. John smiled and took the box away from Sherlock.

"Thank you." He turned around and disappeared somewhere in the flat, leaving Sherlock alone in the family room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Thank you for being patient! Below is the next installment of the story! How will this chapter go? Will John and Sherlock fight? Will they discuss their future together? Or, will they talk about cases that they had solved? Read to find out!**

**Also, thank you again for your continued support. It means a lot to me. Happy reading!**

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John woke in someone else's arms. His eyes fluttered open and he glanced over his shoulder. A man with dark brown curly hair and pale skin was sleeping behind him; his breath brushed John's cheek. John shivered and smiled slightly. He rolled over so he was laying face-to-face with Sherlock. Some sunlight streamed through the blinds and rested against Sherlock's cheek. John gently brushed Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock mumbled something in his sleep and scooted closer to John. John smiled and kissed Sherlock lightly on the lips.

John sighed and continued to stare at Sherlock for a while before he finally decided to get out of bed. He pushed back the covers, tossed his legs over the side, and headed to the kitchen. He poured some water into the tea kettle and placed it on the stove so it would heat up while he tried to find something to make for breakfast. He searched through the cupboards until he found the fixings for crepes. Smiling to himself, he took out the box and moved some large bowls to the center of the counter. Once he skimmed through the recipe, he started mixing the ingredients together.

When he was about to pour the wet ingredients on top of the dry, the tea kettle started to scream. He turned off the stove and poured the water into two mugs.

"Good morning," a voice said in his ear, throwing John out of his thoughts. He jumped and turned around.

Sherlock was standing behind him with a smirk painted across his face.

"Sherlock! You scared me."

John lightly slapped Sherlock's arm and went around him so he could grab the tea bags that he wanted to put in the mugs. Right when he was about to tear them open Sherlock took them from him.

"I got it, John. You focus on the crepes." Sherlock looked over John's shoulder at the bowls that were resting on the counter. His eyes flicked back to John. "You are making crepes, right?"

John smiled and nodded.

"Good guess. Yeah, I am. I thought that I would make something special."

Sherlock dropped the tea bags into the mugs and went over to John. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and kissed his cheek gently.

"Stop it, Sherlock. I'll get crepe mix all over you," John giggled as he finished pouring the wet ingredients into the dry.

"I don't mind," Sherlock whispered as he planted another kiss on John's cheek. Chills ran up John's spine.

"Well if you make me spill this we won't be able to have any crepes and you need to eat something."

Sherlock groaned softly.

"Do I need to?"

John nodded.

"Yes. Now go set the table so we can eat once the crepes are done."

Sherlock pouted slightly but didn't say anything. John smiled as Sherlock set to work on the table. John turned on the stove and placed a skillet on top of it. He waited for the skillet to warm up before he poured the mixture. Sherlock groaned, lurching John out of his thoughts. John turned around and saw Sherlock standing right next to the table, his arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock's gaze met John's.

"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I don't know how to set the table."

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, really? Did you delete it?" He asked teasingly.

Sherlock pouted and nodded.

"Oh, that's too bad. Too bad I won't set the table... I have to make the crepes."

Sherlock frowned.

"Fine, I'll finish setting the table," Sherlock said.

John smiled and turned back towards the stove. He buttered the skillet and poured the mixture onto it. He nurtured the crepe until it was the texture that he liked; once it was, he took it out of the skillet and poured more batter. He kept doing this until he had a stack of four crepes sitting next to the stove.

"Ready?" John asked Sherlock who was in the family room, playing his violin. He nodded, put down his violin, and joined John in the kitchen.

"Of course."

John smiled and sat down at the table. He gave Sherlock a crepe that had nutella on the top of it. Nutella was one of Sherlock's favorite foods, so John made sure that he gave Sherlock that one. Sherlock smiled and started to dig in.

"So," Sherlock said after he swallowed. "We haven't talked about the wedding at all...when do you want the wedding to be?"

John glanced up, stunned. Goosebumps covered the back of his neck.

"I don't really mind."

Sherlock shook his head.

"Come on, John. A wedding is a very important event. You have to have some opinion on when you want it to be. Plus, this is our day, John," he reached over the table and placed his hand on top of John's. "I want it to be exactly the way we want it. I don't want it to be arranged at the last minute."

Marriage wasn't something that John had given thought about for a long time. Truth be told, he couldn't really remember when he had last thought about it. He may have had a lot of dates over the years, but he hadn't ever truly pictured himself marrying any of those women. He stared at Sherlock and his lips twitched up into a smile. Who would have guessed that this man- the impossible Sherlock Holmes- would be the one that made him settle down?

"What's on your mind, John?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"I just was thinking that I didn't expect to ever get married." John paused when Sherlock frowned slightly. "It's not that I didn't want to get married, but I I kept feeling like I wouldn't meet the right person. I never felt like I could truly be myself around any of them. With you though, I feel like I can be myself. I imagine myself having a life with you."

Sherlock smiled and rubbed his thumb against the back of John's hand. Goosebumps spread across John's skin.

"And what does this life look like?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged and gestured to the room around them.

"Pretty much like this. Solving crimes, living in the city, enjoying each other's company."

Sherlock's smile spread into a grin. He squeezed John's hand gently.

"So...when do you want the wedding? The sooner we get married...the sooner we can start a life together."

John thought for a moment and ran his hand through his hair.

"Maybe...winter? You know, we could have it in Hyde Park or something?"

Sherlock's smile faded a little.

"Outside?"

John chuckled and shrugged.

"I don't know. I think having a winter wedding would be nice, though. Not many people I know have had one in the winter."

"Well, winter it is, then."

"Fantastic. If you don't want it to be outside, I understand. I just thought that it would be different. We can be traditional and have it in a hotel or someplace else instead."

"The place doesn't really matter to me as long as you're happy with it, John."

John blushed and took a bite of his crepe, trying to buy some time before he had to speak again. He was positive that if he spoke now his voice would come out all high-pitched. He knew that getting married was important to Sherlock, but he did not think that Sherlock would care about the actual wedding or where John wanted it.

"But I want you to be happy with the wedding, Sherlock. I know that you want me to be happy with the wedding, but I want you to make some decisions about it, too. And I know that you care about the wedding, so don't act like you don't."

Sherlock stared at John, completely taken aback. Sometimes he still couldn't believe that John cared about what he wanted. Most people just assumed that he would be fine with anything, but in truth, he wasn't. Sherlock did want things, but people tended to act like he didn't know what he was talking about. Donovan and Anderson always acted that way around him. He was sure that they were intimidated by him, but that did not mean that they had to be rude to him.

John licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He stared at Sherlock with wide, almost gray eyes.

"So...Sherlock, where do you want the wedding?" John asked, sending Sherlock back to the present.

If Sherlock was completely honest, he did not have any idea where he wanted the wedding to be. When he was younger, marriage never really seemed like something that he wanted. Of course, he gave it some thought, but he never pictured himself as a person who would get married. When he was younger, kids always shunned him. Even in university. They barely talked to him; they always thought that he was some type of freak. After going through that, he knew that he would never be able to get married because no one dared to give him a chance. Until John, that is. John seemed to ignore what everyone else said though. John seemed to treat him like a normal human being; someone with wants and emotions like any other person.

Sherlock let out a slow breath.

"I have not given it much thought yet. I will need time to think about it."

John nodded.

"That's okay. We don't have to decide where we want it now. Does winter sound good, though?"

"Yes; winter sounds like a good time to have the wedding."

John grinned and took a large sip of his tea. Blood rushed to his cheeks, turning them red. Sherlock took a bite of his crepe and chewed slowly, his eyes on John. As he watched John, his mind turned to the day of the actual wedding. They would probably only invite a couple of people, seeing as most people didn't really want to hang out with Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Mycroft would be invited, but he wasn't sure who else would be. John still didn't really talk to anyone in his family, so he wasn't sure if he would want to invite any of them.

Sherlock was sure that he and John would walk down the aisle a few seconds apart from one another. Sherlock would probably enter first, and then once he was halfway down the aisle, John would enter. He could imagine them both in their best suits in front of the officiator, unable to take their eyes off of each other. Chills ran down his spine; yes, he definitely wanted to get married. He wanted to be able to stand in front of John and show him that he wasn't going anywhere; that he was his for life.

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**Well, I hope you liked that chapter! If you want, feel free to leave a comment below or follow this story!**

**Thank you again for reading this chapter and story. I appreciate it greatly. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello all! Sorry for the delayed update! I didn't realize that a week had passed since I last updated. Anyways, here is the chapter! To make up for the delay, this chapter is slightly longer than the others. I really hope that you enjoy it.**

As always, thank you for your continued support, and thank you for reading!  


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The next few days passed pretty uneventfully. Sherlock and John worked on two more cases, and Sherlock experimented while John went to the clinic. Today, however, was different than any other day. Today, John and Sherlock would meet with a wedding planner. Sherlock had originally rejected the idea, but John had told him that they needed one since neither of them knew anything about planning a wedding. John had known some people in the past who had gotten married, but he never asked them about how they actually planned the wedding.

Once Sherlock had agreed to the wedding planner, John had to convince Sherlock to come to the meeting. Sherlock had insisted that he trusted John on planning the wedding, but John didn't want to decide on anything major without Sherlock by his side. So they were now in a taxi, heading to the slightly richer side of London. Sherlock was staring out the window and his breath left white clouds on the glass. Rain pattered against the windows the cab. John pulled his coat closer to his body and shook his head.

Sherlock's gaze flicked over to John. He tugged at John's sleeve. John furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at Sherlock. Sherlock tugged at his sleeve again, pulling John closer to him. John finally got what Sherlock was trying to say and moved over so his shoulder was pressed against Sherlock's bicep. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's shoulder and pulled him closer to him so almost every part of their bodies was touching. The chill that had been taking over John's body slowly died down. Goosebumps still covered his skin, but they weren't there just because of the cold anymore.

John and Sherlock sat in silence until they reached their destination. The cabbie glanced into the rearview mirror.

"Have a good day," he said as John and Sherlock got out of the cab.

They had arrived at a building that was made out of light tan stone. An iron gate outlined the front of the building so it was cut off from the surrounding area. John handed the cabbie a few bills and went over to Sherlock who was staring up at the building.

"This is where the wedding planner is?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, come on," John said, pulling Sherlock's sleeve so he would follow him into the building.

A receptionist greeted them once they were inside. She smiled at them when they went up to her desk.

"How may I help you?" she asked.

"We have an appointment. It's under Watson."

Sherlock shot John a look; John shrugged and glanced back at the receptionist. The receptionist typed something into the computer and nodded.

"Yep. Feel free to enter her office now if you want. Thanks for stopping by."

With that, John and Sherlock went to the left of the desk over to a door that supposedly led to the planner's office.

Sherlock really, truly, did not want to be doing this right now. He knew that the wedding was important to John, but he did not fully understand why they needed to go to a wedding planner. He thought that they could just figure out how to plan the wedding by looking up instructions online. John, unsurprisingly, did not want to do that; he thought that they would screw up the wedding if they tried to plan it all by themselves. Sherlock understood why John believed that, but he still thought that they could plan it by themselves.

Sherlock opened the door to the office for John. John thanked him and went into the office, Sherlock closely following him. The office was a relatively large room that was framed by bookshelves on every wall save for one that was lined with windows. Sunlight streamed through the windows, lighting the room. A woman sat at a desk in the center of the room. She got up from her desk and extended her hand. John smiled and shook her hand. The planner moved her hand so it was in front of Sherlock, but he just sat down instead.

John rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. The wedding planner frowned, but didn't say anything.

"So, you must be John and Sherlock," she said, sitting back down and opening her laptop. John and Sherlock nodded. "It's very nice to meet you. Please call me Amy. I hate formal titles."

John nodded.

"It's very nice to meet you as well," John said, smiling slightly.

"A wedding is a very important event, whether you think it is or not. In five years, you'll look back on your wedding day and it'll mean something to you. A wedding marks the beginning of a new chapter of your life. You want to give this new chapter a proper beginning."

John nodded as Sherlock rolled his eyes. She was being a bit overdramatic; sentimental.

"So, when would you like your wedding to be?"

"Well, we were thinking about having one in the winter. We know that winter can be a dreadful time of year, but we'd love to have our wedding then."

Amy glanced down at her laptop and typed something.

"Winter isn't a very popular season to get married in, but people certainly do get married then. Some people want to be different than other people so they choose winter instead of the summer. But, winter is good because a lot of hotels and other places are not very busy with weddings so it's easier to reserve a location. Speaking of locations, do you have any in mind?"

Sherlock's and John's gazes met. They had talked about locations a bit over the last few days, but they hadn't really agreed on a place. Each of them picked five hotels that they wanted the wedding to be at, but they hadn't narrowed their selection down to one yet. Picking the location was a big step so they didn't want to rush into anything. Especially when they didn't know how expensive it would be to actually book a place.

They weren't really worried about the price of the wedding, but they didn't want it to be too expensive. John got paid pretty well at the clinic, but Sherlock and John both agreed that they'd rather have a smaller wedding so they could do other things, like take a vacation, in the future.

"We have a few places in mind, but we'd like to hear your suggestions as well. We really don't know anything about the wedding process."

Sherlock let out a sound of annoyance and looked out the window. He had researched a lot over the last few days about planning a wedding, but John seemed to think that they needed some "professional" help. He said that it was their wedding and he wanted to do it right. Amy launched into a spiel about different venues and why one was better than the other while Sherlock tuned her out and thought about something else.

John grinned as he walked out of the building. The meeting had actually gone much better than he thought it would. Amy seemed like a very nice person who completely understood the wedding planning process. Sherlock was standing on the curb, hailing a taxi. A taxi pulled over as Sherlock gestured for John to join him. John went over to the taxi and slid in. Sherlock joined him a few seconds later and closed the door behind him. The taxi was quiet until they were about halfway to Baker Street. John glanced over at Sherlock who was staring out of the window as usual.

"So, what did you think?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't think it should be too hard to plan the wedding. I think we should schedule the venue soon though if we want to have a wedding at a good place. I know that Amy said that there aren't a lot of weddings in the winter, but we don't know how reliable she is."

"I'm sure she's very reliable, Sherlock. I mean, she does this for a living."

"So? The officers at Scotland Yard say that they are reliable, but they are rarely reliable."

John let out an agitated sigh; why did Sherlock have to make this a big deal? All John wanted to do was pick a place that Sherlock and him both liked. He didn't care when they scheduled the venue, but he wanted to do it so they could start planning the other parts of the wedding. Amy said that planning a wedding could be stressful, but John doubted that it was as stressful as she made it out to be.

The next few days weren't the most exciting days for either John or Sherlock. Picking out a venue was actually much more difficult than both of them had expected. They both wanted a similar venue style, but neither of them could agree on one place for the wedding. Sherlock wanted the wedding to be at a slightly bigger place than John. In truth, Sherlock didn't really want to have a big wedding, but he thought that John would want to have one since it was their big day.

Sherlock stretched and got up from the couch. John looked up from his laptop and then continued to type whatever he was typing. Sherlock went over to him so he could see what he was up to. As expected, John was on the internet, searching for possible venues for the wedding. He sighed and closed a tab; he ran a hand over his face.

"You know, this is much more difficult than I expected, Sherlock," he said, looking through a list of venues on another site.

"It'll be worth it though. The key is to find a venue that we both like," Sherlock said, trying to appease John. John hadn't been getting much sleep for the past few nights. Normally Sherlock was the one who stayed up all night, but now John was staying up later than Sherlock. During these last few nights Sherlock went to bed a few hours than John, which never usually happened. John's eyes were marked with purple bags and his normally perfectly pressed clothes were wrinkled. To be honest, this sudden change of behavior was starting to worry Sherlock.

"Yes, but we haven't decided on one yet, Sherlock, and what if we don't? I mean, we want completely different things. There isn't any way that we'll find one that we both agree on."

Sherlock ran a hand through his curly hair and placed his hands on John's shoulders. John's body felt tense under Sherlock's touch. Sherlock gently pressed his thumbs into John's shoulder blades, circling around an area that was filled with knots. John groaned; Sherlock smirked and continued to work the knots out, hoping that it would make him feel better. John tilted his head back so his eyes were almost directly underneath Sherlock's. His lips were partly open and all the tension from his face seemed to evaporate.

"We'll find a place, John. The likelihood that we do not find a venue is very, very, small."

"Yes, but we don't know that, Sherlock. We haven't agreed on a place yet."

Suddenly Sherlock's shirt felt very tight. He nodded slowly to John and then turned around to go to his room. He grabbed a white box from his room and then went outside, leaving John staring after him. Sherlock shut the door behind him and pressed his back against the white brick. He opened the package of cigarettes, unable to control his craving. He knew that he shouldn't smoke, but he didn't care. He needed something to calm his racing mind; to bring some clarity to his thoughts. He lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips. Inhaling, he relished the way the cigarette felt between his teeth. Slowly, he let out a breath, pouring the smoke out of his mouth.

Deep down, Sherlock knew that they would find a venue. After all, they needed to have one in order to have the wedding. That didn't seem to calm his mind, though. All he could focus on was the fact that they still hadn't found one. He knew that couples sometimes took a while to make decisions, but he never thought that it would take this long. He brought the cigarette to his mouth again and inhaled. His crowded mind seemed to quiet some. The thoughts that had been penetrating his mind seemed to die down; some of them even disappeared. He continued to smoke, hoping that John wouldn't walk out any second and catch him. Smoking, after all, was one of John's pet peeves. John absolutely hated it when Sherlock decided to smoke. John always told Sherlock that smoking was the number one cause of lung cancer. If John caught him smoking, well, John would not be very happy.

Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his head against the brick. Finally, his muscles seemed to relax, and his thoughts became more coherent. He tossed the cigarette to the ground and turned back to 221B, ready to find a venue for the wedding.

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**I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! If you have any comments, feel free to leave one below. No matter what you say in the comment, I always enjoy reading it.**

Anyways, thank you again for your continued support! It means a lot to me. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment of the story! This chapter is slightly longer than usual, but I hope that you enjoy it! As always, thank you so much for reading this story. Your support really means a lot to me and I cannot say that enough. **

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John didn't have any idea as to why Sherlock decided to stomp out of the flat like some type of angry toddler. He knew that Sherlock wasn't angry, but he didn't think that Sherlock would just leave the flat like that if he wasn't. John tried to call Sherlock right after he left, but Sherlock didn't hear him. Or, if he did, he didn't decide to turn around. John ran a hand over his face and gazed at his laptop screen. Ten venues were on his browser, staring back at him. He had planned on talking to Sherlock about them earlier, but obviously that plan didn't exactly pan out. Sighing, he got up from his chair and went into the kitchen. He put the kettle on the stove, hoping that it would heat up quickly.

He went over to the windows in the family room and scanned the area. Of course, Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be found. John frowned and headed back to the kitchen. He took the kettle off of the heat, poured some water into a mug, and put a tea bag into the water. He put another mug out just in case Sherlock came back and decided that he wanted to have some.

John knew that this whole wedding situation was starting to stress Sherlock out, even though Sherlock never talked to John about how he felt about it. He knew that Sherlock wanted to get married, but John thought that the planning of the wedding was too much for Sherlock. Sherlock would have probably been just as happy if they decided to elope. John had mentioned eloping a few days ago, but Sherlock refused. He told John that they were going to do this right and have a proper wedding. John didn't fight him on it because he wanted a real wedding. He wanted to be able to commit to Sherlock in front of his family and friends.

John tossed the tea bag into the trash and took the mug into the family room. He sat back down at his laptop and took a sip of the tea. The tea rushed down his throat and lessened the tension that was building between his shoulder blades. He opened his blog, hoping that it would provide a distraction until Sherlock came back. John began typing about their wedding plans, but he erased the sentence right after he finished it. Sighing, he closed his blog and started to look for venues again. He refused to believe that there weren't any places that Sherlock liked. There had to be some place that Sherlock liked; he just had to find it.

John flipped his phone opened and scrolled through his contacts until he reached the person that he wanted. He clicked the "dial" button and waited, tapping his thumb on his laptop as he did.

"Come on," he muttered to himself after the second ring.

The person that he was trying to call finally picked up on the third ring.

"Hello, John." The voice said.

John let out a sigh.

"Hello, Mycroft. I don't mean to be a pain, but I have a question to ask you."

"Let me guess, it's about Sherlock."

"Yes and I'm sorry for bothering you. I just needed someone to talk to and you know the most about Sherlock."

"I would not say that, John. I would say that you know the most about him. I mean, you do live with him."

John pursed his lips together. He knew that he lived with Sherlock, but that didn't matter. Mycroft was still his brother. Out of everyone, he probably knew the most about Sherlock.

"Yes, I realize that, but I need your help."

"Fine. What's your question, John?"

"Well...do you know where Sherlock would want to get married? I understand that you might not know, but did Sherlock ever mention it when he was younger?"

Mycroft chuckled.

"I'm afraid I won't really be able to help in that area. Sherlock never really talked about his romantic goals with me. Well, he didn't really talk to me at all, so I wouldn't know anything about that."

John frowned; he knew that Mycroft wouldn't be much help, but he had hoped that he would have a little advice since he was Sherlock's brother.

"Well, thank you for your help anyways, Mycroft."

Just then, an idea dawned on John. Mycroft began to say his goobyes, but John cut him off before he could finish.

"Wait- Mycroft, are there any hotels that Sherlock liked to go to or stay at when you went on vacation?"

Sherlock and Mycroft never really talked about their childhood, but John knew that they had gone on a few vacations when they were younger. He wasn't sure where they exactly went, but he knew that they once stayed in London when they lived in the countryside.

"Actually, yes, there were a few that he liked. Would you like me to email you the list?"

John grinned.

"Yes, that would be great. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good day, John."

With that, Mycroft hung up. John nodded and opened up his email, hoping that Mycroft would send the list within a few minutes.

Sherlock entered the flat, completely relaxed. Well, as relaxed as Sherlock could be. His normally crowded mind was buzzing softly; thoughts floated from one side of his mind palace to the other. Sherlock went over to John who was sitting at the desk and wrapped his arms around him. John was tense at first, but he gradually sank into the hug. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head and patted it before he went over to sit on the couch.

"Hello John," Sherlock said, his voice softer than usual.

John glanced at Sherlock and frowned.

"What happened, Sherlock? You seem... happy."

Sherlock clucked his tongue a few times, unable to understand why him being happy was a bad thing. After all, why shouldn't he be happy?

"Why shouldn't I be happy, John? I'm marrying my best friend." He said simply, resting his head against the back of the couch.

John narrowed his eyes and went over to Sherlock. Sherlock opened his eyes when he felt John's small knees brush against his legs.

"Sherlock," John said, tapping Sherlock lightly on the shoulders.

Sherlock ignored him and rubbed his back into the couch, as if he was trying to get more comfortable.

"No," Sherlock whined, tightening his eyelids.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, unwilling to look at John. He knew that if he met John's gaze that he would crack and tell him everything that he had been up to for the last half an hour. It's not like he did anything bad, but he did do something that John didn't condone. John thought that Sherlock shouldn't use a cigarette as a gateway to feel better or quiet his mind. Sherlock wished that John would be a little bit more lenient about the whole smoking thing, but he understood why John was so against it. Unfortunately.

Sherlock felt John's hands trail along his arms, down to his stomach. Goosebumps covered Sherlock's flesh. He wanted to open his eyes, to tell John that he didn't need to tease him. But, he didn't want to give in; he refused to give in. John's fingers made their way to Sherlock's lower stomach, down to the tip of his thighs. Sherlock shuddered under John's touch.

"John," Sherlock breathed, the word coming out raggedly.

John just laughed and let his hand slide down to Sherlock's knees.

"Talk to me, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock shook his head and tried to even out his breathing. Unfortunately, it wasn't any use. John's touch had lit minuscule flames on every of Sherlock. John squeezed Sherlock's leg, causing Sherlock to suck in a large sum of air. Don't give in, Sherlock, Sherlock scolded himself, still unwilling to give into John. Sherlock's eyes burst open when he felt John's breath right next to his ear.

"If you tell me what's on your mind, maybe I'll repay you," John whispered.

Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to focus on John. John smiled and patted Sherlock's knee. He looked at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"John...please don't be mad," Sherlock started, his gaze focused on the floor. He didn't know how to begin; he knew that John would be completely put off once he knew what Sherlock had been doing. John rarely used nicknames, but he couldn't help himself.

"Darling, you can tell me what happened. I won't be mad at you." John's tone was light.

Sherlock sucked in a breath, and then let it out. It'll be okay, Sherlock, he told himself, lifting his gaze up to John's. John looked at him with wide, slightly green eyes.

"I...I smoked again," Sherlock mumbled, shifting his gaze back to the floor so he couldn't see how John would react.

"What?" John said, his voice tainted by a harshness that was unusual for him to use.

"You heard me, John," Sherlock whispered, "don't make me say it again."

John merely stared at Sherlock, his face devoid of emotion. Sherlock knew that he was mad though, but that was only because he had lived with John for so long; he knew what bothered John; what set him off.

"What made you do that, Sherlock? You know that you can be open with me, right? If you're upset, talk to me about that. I want to be here for you."

Sherlock folded his hands in his lap.

"Because... I was stressed about planning the wedding."

John squeezed Sherlock's leg lightly.

"Sherlock, it'll be okay. We'll agree on a venue and the wedding will go beautifully. It's only stressful now because we're not very far along in the planning process. Once we get going, things will get better."

Sherlock wished that he hadn't deleted almost everything he knew about weddings. If he hadn't, he would have been able to tell if John was lying to him or not. John rarely lied, but Sherlock knew that he did when he wanted to calm him down, or to keep him from worrying about something.

"Okay...I believe you. I'm sorry for smoking again, John. I know that you don't like it."

John's hands slid around Sherlock's back. He pulled Sherlock close to him, folding him into a hug. Sherlock sighed against John, resting his head against John's stomach.

"I forgive you, Sherlock," John said, kissing the mop of curls on Sherlock's head. "Just please remember that I'm here to listen, okay? I'm not like other people. I won't make fun of you or call you a 'freak'." Sherlock winced and tightened his arms that were around John's waist. "I'm on your side, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, John."

Sherlock didn't know how long they stayed in that embrace for, but he didn't care. All he could focus on was the way John felt pressed against him, and the way John's scent tickled his nose. Everything that he was worrying about before left his mind, allowing him a few moments of peace.

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**Well, I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter of the story will be posted in 6 or 7 days. Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a comment with any praises or criticisms that you may have! (I do read through and reply to every comment, so do not think that your comment will go unnoticed! Comments are like little presents.)**

**Anyways, thank you again for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Welcome, welcome to the 12th chapter of the "Trials of Commitment"! (See what I did there?) This is a slightly shorter chapter than my other ones, but I think that it makes up for that in fluffiness. Or, well, I hope that it does.  
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**Anyways, enough from me. I hope that you enjoy the chapter!  
**

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John clicked the link to one of the venues that Mycroft had sent him the other day. After Sherlock's little panic attack, John decided not to mention the wedding for a few days. He didn't want to worry Sherlock again if he didn't have to. Sherlock, at the moment, was right next to John, playing his violin. A sweet, low, melody that seemed to ease the tension in John's shoulders filled the flat. He smiled and glanced over his shoulder. Sherlock had his eyes closed, but his hands were dancing on the strings, creating a melody that John had never heard before. John turned back to his laptop and examined a picture of the venue that he thought would be good for the wedding.

The first venue that he saw looked nice, but it seemed a bit too large for their wedding. While he wanted a large reception area, he didn't want people to feel lost when they were trying to find their seat. Sighing, he closed that tab and looked at the next venue. He was a bit wary about having the venue at this hotel, but by the time he finished glancing through the photos, he was completely sold on the place. It had that historic feel, but it wasn't too historic. Smiling, he pressed the "bookmark" button and continued to look through the rest of the venues.

The rest of the venues didn't really excite John at all. Sure, there had been some nice ones, but none of them made John want to have a wedding there. He reopened the tab of the venue he liked and looked through the photos of the place again. He knew that his opinion of the place wouldn't change after looking at it a second time, but he wanted to make sure that it was a place that Sherlock would be okay with. Or, not only okay with, but thrilled with. He wanted Sherlock to want to have the wedding at this place. He didn't want Sherlock to simply agree to it if he didn't like it.

"Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock continued to play his violin, clearly in his own little musical world. "Sherlock?" John asked, a little bit louder this time.

Sherlock stopped playing and glanced over at John.

"What is it?" He asked, eyebrows raising.

John gestured to his laptop.

"Well, I think I found a good venue for our wedding." Sherlock's grip on the violin tightened. John shifted so he could place a hand on Sherlock's forearm. "I know that you don't want to think about planning the wedding, but I really think that you will like this place. Just look at it, okay? I already have the page loaded."

Sherlock stared at John for a few seconds before he sighed and went over to place his violin on the couch.

"Okay." Sherlock said when he was next to John.

"What do you think, Sherlock?" John asked, rifling through a bunch of photos that showed the ballroom and other rooms that were used for weddings.

Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed lightly. His breath caught in his throat. All the anxiety that seemed to come with picking a venue melted off of him, evaporating into the air.

"I think that this place is perfect, John. When can we go and see it?"

John grinned and reached for Sherlock's hand that was on his shoulder. His thumb rubbed circles on Sherlock's almost baby soft skin. Skin that seemed to grow softer by the day even though John didn't understand how that could be possible. Sherlock's hands saw more turmoil than any other hands that he had ever seen.

"Whenever you want. Just let me know when and I'll ring the hotel."

"Can we see it tomorrow or the next day after that?" Sherlock asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Of course. I'll call them and see when we can schedule a visit."

Sherlock looked at the page that was on the screen, staring back at him. At first, he would have never considered this type of hotel to be the place they married in. But, after seeing the pictures, and seeing how John's face lit up when he showed him, he couldn't say no to the place. The place was almost perfect. Once John told Sherlock that he was going to call the place, Sherlock went into the kitchen, towards his microscope. He put a slide on the stage and peered through the lens. He studied the specimen while John talked away on the phone, trying to schedule a visit for them. Sherlock was just getting into his experiment when John joined Sherlock in the kitchen.

"Well, we have a visit. They are booked all day tomorrow, so we have a slot on Friday. They say that we can come during any time during the day, as long as we call them to let them know that we're coming." John said, his voice lighter and happier than usual.

Sherlock glanced over at John and nodded.

"That's great. We'll have to make sure that we get there early so we beat other people who are looking at the place."

John frowned.

"Why?"

"Someone could take the day or time that we want, and I don't want someone to get married on a day that we want to get married on."

"You do know that more than one couple gets married during a day, right?" John asked, tone slightly teasing.

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Of course. I just don't want someone to take a time that we want to get married at."

"Don't worry, Sherlock. I'm sure that we will get married at a perfect time."

Sherlock nodded, but he didn't truly believe John. He didn't think John was wrong, but he knew that weddings were a big deal for normal people. Usually people started to plan their wedding years in advance and made sure that they got married at the perfect time. What if someone picked the same time that John and him wanted to get married at? Frowning, he looked back at the specimen under his microscope, hoping that would distract him from the questions that boomeranged around his mind.

The place was perfect; absolutely perfect. John had to admit that he was slightly skeptical about the venue to begin with. He thought that the pictures would somehow falsely advertise it. But, he was wrong. The people of the Langham Hotel allowed them to tour almost every room in the hotel that could possibly deal with a wedding. Every room that they had seen had left John stunned. He couldn't believe beautiful each room was. After leaving the hotel, he could definitely imagine him and Sherlock getting married there.

"So," John began, walking through the door that led to their flat. "Sherlock, what did you think of the hotel?" John wanted to talk about the hotel earlier with Sherlock, but Sherlock refused.

Sherlock hung his jacket and scarf on the hook that they kept near the door and went over to the kitchen. John followed him and put the kettle on the stove.

"It was very nice," Sherlock said, taking a seat behind his microscope. He peered through the lens and adjusted the knobs so he could see the specimen better.

John turned around and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso. The hair on the back of Sherlock's neck stood up. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to focus on examining the thing he put under the microscope, but his attempt was futile.

"Sherlock, what did you think of the place? Did you like it? You didn't answer me earlier..." John wasn't one to not finish his sentences, but words seemed to escape him. He didn't understand why Sherlock wouldn't want to talk about the venue, especially when he was so excited about going to visit it.

Sherlock sighed and spun around in the chair so he was face to face with John. Sherlock's body felt tense between John's arms. John backed up a little and ran one of his hands through Sherlock's hair, hoping to calm him down. Sherlock let out a sigh and tilted his head so he could feel John's hand better.

"So, did you like the place? Do you see us getting married there?"

Sherlock's gaze met John's and he nodded.

"Yes, I did like the place." Sherlock said finally.

"Then why didn't you say anything when I asked you earlier? I was worried that you didn't like it."

"No, I did like it, John," Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around John's stomach, trying to pull him closer to him. "I just didn't want to talk about it then because I wanted to think about it a bit more. I wanted to make sure that the hotel was definitely where I wanted to marry you."

A smile tugged at the corners of John's mouth.

"And do you definitely want to get married there?"

Sherlock grinned and nodded. John's smirk split into a grin, and he kissed him lightly on the lips. After all of that bickering and stress, they had finally found a place that they wanted to get married in. Their wedding was actually going to happen.

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**So, that concludes chapter 12! I hope that you enjoyed it. As always, thank you so much for your continued support. I cannot say that enough. It truly means a lot to me.**

Also, before you go, feel free to leave a comment below telling me what you thought of the chapter! Did you enjoy it? Did you not like it?

Anyways, I won't keep you any longer. Thank you again for taking the time to read this story; it truly means a lot to me. 


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